Last Opportunity
by snowhite-queen
Summary: The last time he saw them,yet somehow he felt this was the only time he had ever truly seen them.Never had she been as alive as now for how could she be dead if she was standing so evidently in front of him? Yours truly&forever, Love. Sev. [oneshot]postDH


**! DH SPOILERS !  
**

**Author's Note: Takes place during DH, at the last moment of Severus' Snape's life. **

**Nothing belongs to me, all belongs to JK Rowling – although I can't say I would mind owning Severus Snape. Mouahaha. Enjoy!**

It was as if his entire life was reviewed and compressed into this last fraction of second; Time had stopped, Magic has disappeared, it was as if Death itself had given in to the unbearable power of that moment; this eternal instant, he took in what no Seer could predict, what no Occlumens could conceal, what no Legilimens could retrieve.

His black eyes were the only part of him he had ever allowed to be consumed by his fifth sense, the one that made him survive – no, live – and yet the one that has been killing him a little more with every breath he took; each ounce of oxygen he has ever inhaled made a fire inside him grow one more sparkle, until nothing remained free of ashes except that sense.

He was a strong man, in control of his actions but particularly of his emotions – never displaying too much, carefully avoiding any mirror imaging between his soul and his face. Keep everything inside – otherwise, you are vulnerable. But now, there was nothing to protect and nothing to hide from; the world was standing still, his battle had stopped, and he was free as he had never been. He had no role left to play; the game was over. For the first time, the perfect darkness of his eyes was not enough to create that barrier preventing entrance to his inner self; anyone having bothered, during that fraction of second, to look a little more closely would have been shocked, even scared, to discover the amount of emotion peering through those eyes - inhuman, impossible to decipher. His eyes were hosts to five senses – or maybe six or twelve or fifteen, who knew. He saw, in a cloud of drained mist, her voice filling his mind, freezing his brain, numbing his spirit, locking his mind; he felt the piercing gaze of her emerald-green eyes shining through him, with such fierceness and lucidity it blinded his own skin; he smelled much more the flames that continued to consume him until this very moment from miles away – from Grief, from Guilt, from Love – than the blood that was tickling away in slow motion from every inch of his left arm.

He knew this was the last time he saw them, but somehow he felt this was the only time he had ever truly seen them. Never had she been as alive as now; for how could she be dead if she was standing so evidently in front of him? Very vaguely, as if of no importance at all, he saw his own reflection in his – no, her eyes. Was this the last chance he had? The last, indefinitely long opportunity to tell her? And oh, there was so much to tell, yet so little words; so much to feel, yet so little time. For the first time in his existence, reason played no role; he even doubted it even existed at that particular moment. He could not think, he was unable to comprehend rationality – right now he only felt as though he had never done so. He allowed himself access to every emotion, every sensation that he had always avoided because it was necessary for his survival – there were so many he would have imploded, so strong his brain would have burst from so much contradiction. And yet, as he discovered now, they were still there, in his subconscious but more present than ever.

Compassion, reproach, wrath, desire, hurt, loneliness, bliss, shame, resentment, greed, serenity, guilt, jealousy, passion, fear, anger, rejection, envy, disillusionment, fury, humiliation, hopelessness, grief, hatred, despair, gratitude, love and even happiness – never-ending is the list of what you have made me endure for the past twenty years. I ask you, Lily – do you have any idea what it is like to be reminded every single minute of what has been denied to me, of what should really have been mine? Have you had the time, wherever you have been for the past sixteen years, to observe and reflect? Do you now know what it is like to loathe, with every fiber of your being, the only memory of the one you have lived for and loved for a lifetime? The voice, the attitude, the smile that had charmed you for reasons I will never understand; his talents, his pride, his fame, his stubbornness, his impertinence – everything about him. How I would have loved to be able to truly and entirely hate him; it would have felt so satisfying, given me some relief. But no, you had to make life unbearable for me even after your death. How could I stop myself from protecting him above anyone else, from putting his life before mine, when among all these features I am perfectly content to hate, are your eyes?

And they have haunted me day and night; I dare you to find one man alive whose guilt has been as suffocating as the one that continues to devour me even now. For every time they stare at me, these eyes remind me that I am the reason, not for the survival of your child, but for your death. I cannot bear the thought; it drives me mad, makes me lose all form of control, expects me to scream, yell out in agony, wound myself as good as I can because no physical torture and no truthful words can possibly hurt even closely as much as this thought. It paralyses every reflection, every comforting idea that could possibly make the anguish end, until I internally beg for punishment that would alleviate part of that guilt - although I know that will never be possible. And yet, I keep staring into those eyes, unable to move away from them, frozen by their beauty – until they move away from me.

What can you possibly have seen in him? Tell me Lily, were you truly in love with him? Did you suffer every minute he was away from you? Did you endure every one of these agonies only because you knew he would be holding you in your arms soon? Did you beg for him to come home because his absence was unbearable? Did the mere thought of him make you smile? Did your eyes root him to the floor when he looked into them, did your lips make him moan when they kissed his, did your skin make his burn when you touched him? Did he care for you more than for life itself, hold you high, break at the sight of a tear in your eye because he could not bear the thought of your unhappiness?

I have learned to accept that you have married him, that you gave birth to his child; that 'we' were over, that you would not talk to me again. That the time of my happiness was over. I have learned to be grateful of what I used to have, instead of regretting what I did not. I have accepted that you have chosen him over me. That I had failed. I have even learned, later on, to teach your son, to protect him despite my hatred. I was able to live with that. But Lily, promise me he loved you. Tell me you have been unconditionally happy with him, just as I have loved you unconditionally, despite everything, until now; promise me you and only you were everything to him and more, the reason he existed – because I cannot bear to think that you did not receive perfection, Lily.

I would not have suffered without you, nor would I have cried or screamed or whispered or died every day a little more. And yet, you are the only reason I have lived.  
Yours truly and forever,  
Love,  
Sev.

His eyes closed, his hands fell, his head emptied and his heart cleared. Finally, Severus Snape was resting.


End file.
